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A Fickle Fire
Posted by syussa
7th Jan 2018

Fickle is my time, and my time of day
and fickle are my feelings, and my moments in which pass away.
You see, a clock ticks as my heart so beats
as I see my desired ambitions drowned in squandered feats.
And yet cogs reset in a grand circulatory position
to which my stable thought remains an unclear disposition.

But still I bathe in a state of lost desire
just to live a fate that blinds pure will and dulls passionate fire.
I feel my mind is light but internally heavy
and yet fickle by nature - if not lost already.

Ever so, bold are the grand notions inside my soul
but a momentary lapse of subtle defeat covets my mind that makes me whole.
My hands that move are hands that state
a fickle notion that ties my emotion to fate.
For as repetitious and redundant as the my battles are
It feels like I'm always lost, that I've gone too far.

With my hand held high I find a fate to tie
to a chain of events forged in a tedious lie.
All I see is consumption and prosumption stacked on scales of retribution
In land filled with quicksand bound for mental execution.
Were it not for a change in my multitudes of clorsure
perhaps one day I'd find happiness and clear composure.

But for now until I've found my lost desire
time will reset again and thus begins another fickle fire.

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